


Under The Gun

by RosYourBoat



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demisexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosYourBoat/pseuds/RosYourBoat
Summary: Bodyguard!AU based on this Tumblr post by ittybittybakes: "LISTEN Zimbits bodyguard AU but no one dies"As the son of Bad Bob Zimmermann, Jack's life goes much like you'd expect--except for the little bump in the road of losing first pick in the 2009 NHL draft and spending the following years in rehab, then Samwell University. After making a triumphant comeback, joining the Providence Falconers in 2015, becoming captain, and winning the Stanley Cup, Jack capitalizes on his fame to be the first out player in the NHL. The backlash is worse than anyone expected: after four death threats and an attempt on his life, Jack is forced to hire a personal bodyguard. Enter one Eric R. Bittle--the last person anyone would expect, but the one most determined to save Jack Zimmermann's damn life, whether Jack likes it or not.





	Under The Gun

The bodyguard idea came up for the second time in a Falconer's meeting after the fourth death threat and first attempt on Jack's life. He hadn't been taking the threats seriously—no one had been, except for the Falc's PR and managerial staff, but that was their job—because after all, he wouldn't be the first minor celebrity athlete to have crazy fans. His father had told him some stories of his own when Jack had called him after the second threat, obviously written by the same person. However, as it turned out, being the first out hockey player in the NHL (and recent Stanley Cup winner, well into preparations for a second win) was a whole different story.

 

It was 2020 and although some parts of society were making huge strides in acceptance towards non-traditional genders and sexualities, the sports world was still very much a men’s club with a near-impenetrable facade of masculinity. Jack had expected the honest support given by the Falconers and You Can Play after the press conference, had even expected the praise from liberal media outlets and the cautious lip-service given by the PR departments of several other NHL teams. He had been pleasantly surprised by the small army of fans that had risen up in an outpouring of love and support. But Jack, having a naturally wary and skeptical mind in spite of--or perhaps because of--the years he had contemplated and planned for this moment, had always known that his greatest challenge would be found within the hockey community itself.

 

But even he had not expected this.

 

After the third letter, the police had been notified, but there had been little they could do after testing the letters for trace evidence and coming up empty handed. They had offered to post a patrol car outside his condo, but Jack had balked at the idea of wasting the valuable time of any officer. This is when Georgia had first suggested hiring a private bodyguard. The Falcs had a security team on hand for home games and other local events where they might be needed, but none were trained for long-term, one-on-one bodyguard duty. Jack had dismissed the idea outright. The idea that such an extreme step was necessary after only a few letters from a crazed fan was ludicrous.

 

Three weeks later, after sitting in the back of an ambulance and coughing into an oxygen mask for the better part of an hour, Jack had reconsidered the idea.

 

\---

 

Three days, several frantic calls from his parents and friends, two meetings with Georgia, and more calls shuttling back and forth between his dad, Uncle Mario, and other NHL bigwigs they knew later, Jack had a meeting set up in a conference room at the Falconer's offices.

 

“Loebeck says he’s good,” Mario had said to him over the phone. “He had that thing with his first-line D-man’s ex-girlfriend, remember? And he says this guy was really easy to work with, smart, and damn good at his job.”

 

Jack hums, taps his fingers on the wood of the small dining table in his hotel suite. “And this guy… Bittle? He knows hockey?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, he knows hockey. Look, Loebeck says he’s young, probably younger than you, even. But you want someone who’s on top of their game, who’ll take this seriously, and he’s a professional. He doesn’t work alone, and Loebeck isn’t the only athlete Bittle has worked with; you saw his reference list.”

 

Jack hums again and nods his head even though Mario can’t see him. He’d seen Bittle’s reference list, alright. Relatively short, Jack had thought, but what did he know about the demand for personal bodyguards? And the kid was supposedly young, but the names on the list were impressive and the reviews had been glowing. The list of Bittle’s certifications and skillsets were even more impressive.

 

Jack nods again, taking a deep but silent breath. He could still smell a faint hint of smoke in the air. “Okay, I’ll meet with him and see what I think.”

 

Now, sitting with Georgia in the otherwise empty conference room and watching the shadows of other Falconer’s staff moving past the frosted glass walls, Jack concentrated on breathing evenly and keeping his hands still in his lap. Georgia tapped his wrist and smiled slightly at him when he looked up. He grimaced an approximation of a smile back at her, appreciating her silent support.

 

The door to the conference room opened and Jack startled minutely, turning the motion into a hasty stand that Georgia copied more gracefully. A small, slender blonde man entered the room first, holding a small stack of papers and an iPad, and was immediately followed by two huge men who looked like they could give Jack a run for his money. Jack took a few steps around the table to meet them, hand already outstretched and gaze split between the two muscular men.

 

“Mr. Bittle? I’m Jack Zimmermann, thank you for meeting us here at such short notice.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Zimmermann,” the black man on the left responded first, so Jack shook his hand. “I’m Justin Oluransi.”

 

Jack blinked, looking over to the blonde on the right. “O-oh, I’m sorry-?”

 

“And I’m Adam Birkholtz, Mr. Zimmermann,” Mr. Birkholtz said with an easy grin, reaching out to shake Jack’s hand, too. Jack returned the smile reflexively but could feel the burn starting in the tips of his ears.

 

“Oh, I--damn,” he said ruefully, “Where’s-?”

 

“Eric Bittle, Mr. Zimmermann. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.” A voice piped up from behind him, couched in a hard-edged drawl immediately identifiable as coming from the American south. Jack turned with a slightly disbelieving double-take at the small blonde--who was looking supremely unimpressed--now identified as Eric R. Bittle, professional bodyguard for hire.

 

\---

 

Jack turned the corner from the conference room, ducked into a hallway off the main corridor and thumped back heavily against the wall. He scrubbed his hands over his face roughly with a muttered, “ _Merde_.” He blew out a breath and dropped his hands, meeting Georgia’s eyes. She cocked an eyebrow at him, arms folded.

 

“Sorry, George, but--seriously?”

 

She sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “Look, Jack, I know he looks pretty… unorthodox. And I’ve never known you to judge someone based on appearances, but you barely gave him a chance to lay out his opening plan before you dragged me out here. What gives?”

 

Jack ran a hand through his hair, feeling the smallest of shakes start up in his limbs and hating hating _hating_ it. He clenched and unclenched his other hand and forced himself to breathe.

 

“I know, I know! But, God, George, this is my _life_ we’re talking about. Not only that, but what if I get injured? Lose my place on the team? And you’re right, normally I wouldn’t care what someone’s doing with their life, but I just can’t imagine that--that _kid_ being responsible for keeping me safe. I mean… he looks like he’s twelve. He’s a hundred pounds soaking wet, and he’s wearing a _bowtie_.”

 

The hallway fell silent while George regarded him thoughtfully.

 

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” she said finally. “You’ve got a fair point, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to ask him about it, given the circumstances. Maybe he doesn’t even plan on guarding you himself when he’s got those two huge D-men at his beck and call; he could be more of a manager than anything else at the end of the day. The point is, you’ve asked him here for a meeting and it’s only fair that you hear him out, don’t you think? He _did_ come highly recommended and I don’t think Mario would have suggested him if he thought Bittle was a waste of your time. We’re _all_ concerned about the situation, Jack.”

 

Jack was nodding before she even finished, having regained some of his composure. The stress was starting to wear on him and it wasn’t the first time in the last few days that someone had had to douse him with some logic in order to bring him out of his head. Dr. Isaacs had already temporarily upped his med dose--which made him slightly nervous in and of itself--and scheduled weekly visits until the situation was resolved.

 

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I just--” He cut himself off. He had been trying to say “I just” less often in an effort to help himself--and others--validate his own feelings and actions. He said instead, “I was concerned, but you’re right, thanks. Um. Should we go back in?”

 

“Before they think we’ve just up and gone home, yes,” she said wryly, punching his shoulder gently as they walked back to the conference room together.

 

Bittle and his two--what, henchmen?--looked up at the door opening. Oluransi and Birkholtz looked significantly less amused now than they had before and Bittle had on a smooth, emotionless mask of professionalism as he met Jack’s eyes coolly. He held himself still, slightly tense maybe, but Jack could see his fingers tap at the table lightly twice and one eyebrow curve up slightly. Jack had a sudden surge of certainty that he had somehow overheard Jack and George’s conversation in the hallway and knew exactly what Jack thought of him.

 

“Welcome back,” he said politely, no trace of irony present. This somehow made it more obvious how rude Jack had been. Now Jack was embarrassed on top of being stressed, but it wasn’t too late to salvage it. He could be professional, too.

 

“Mr. Bittle, I want to apologize, I was very rude earlier.” He said, trying for earnest but somehow certain that he came off as stiff and robotic as his post-game interviews. “Please, let’s start over. My name is Jack Zimmermann, thank you for coming to see us today.”

 

He stepped forward and held out his hand. He was temporarily stymied as he loomed over Bittle like a hulking troll until Bittle stood also. He still felt huge and blundering as he gingerly shook Bittle’s hand, but Bittle surprised him by returning his grip with a firm and even grasp.

 

“Well, I do appreciate that, Mr. Zimmermann, thank you. I’m sure you’ve been very stressed with this whole situation, and I can hardly blame you.” _No matter how much I’d like to_ , his thin-lipped smile said. Jack grimaces inwardly. This was not going well--could you hire a bodyguard when he hated you as much as the person trying to kill you? “Shall we take a seat and I’ll start from the top?”

 

Jack cleared his throat and sat next to Georgia. “Yes, please.”

 

Bittle straightened the stack of papers in front of him and tapped the iPad to wake it up. “Alright then, Mr. Zimmermann, I’ll just introduce myself and my associates again to make sure we’re all on the same page. I’m Eric Bittle, an independent agent of Aegis Enterprises, Inc. and these are Adam Birkholtz and Justin Oluransi, part of my team who help me on the ground during assignments. While my job will be to personally protect your person, Mr. Zimmermann, they and the rest of my team will be spending their time in reconnaissance. That includes a discreet protection detail while you travel throughout your day, gathering information about your attacker, and interviewing potential suspects. You see, we’re here not only to keep you safe, but also to help find your attacker and bring them to justice.”

 

“The police have already interviewed everyone I know and searched for evidence at my apartment,” Jack said, not exactly protesting but not wanting to waste anyone’s time or money, either.

 

“I understand that, and we will certainly be working with local police every step of the way. However, a dedicated team such as ours will have quite a bit more flexibility, time, and, quite frankly, _money_ to dedicate to exploring every avenue and alibi thoroughly. We would, essentially, be a private detective service.” Bittle smiled again.

 

This seemed to be a lot more involved than Mario had been suggesting, but Jack couldn’t deny that the idea of having more people working on the situation to end the whole thing as fast as possible sounded appealing. It also sounded outrageously expensive. But luckily, after five years in the NHL, money was something that Jack had more than enough of.

 

“I understand. I have, um, one question. About the personal bodyguard part.” God, could he sound more awkward? “That would be your job, _oui_? Correct?”

 

“Unless I’m sick, injured, or killed; in which case, I have an alternate.” His quicksilver smile clued Jack into the fact that Bittle was using the hockey term purposefully.

 

“Ah ha, yes… It’s just--” Jack blew out a quick breath, frustrated. He wasn’t good at delicate conversation and Georgia, as a non-participative representative of the Falconers, wasn’t helping. “Look, you’re very… small. How--I mean, what do you plan on doing… about that? I mean, with that. I mean, if someone attacks me, in person.”

 

What followed thereafter was the most intensely mortifying twenty seconds of his life, after the time Maman caught him frantically jerking off to the 2005 ESPN Body issue, of course. Bittle only blinked and smiled a smile that was only slightly chilly. Apparently he had been expecting the question, though that didn’t make Jack feel any better.

 

“You’re not the first person to ask me that, Mr. Zimmermann. After all, I don’t look one bit like all you big and brawny types. But let me ask you: you’ve read through my qualifications, called my references, right?”

 

Jack could only nod.

 

“I believe my resume speaks for itself for the moment, but believe me, I can and have taken down men three times my size in hand-to-hand fighting. And Heaven forbid guns should ever become involved, but well, you _are_ looking at the three-time winner of the Georgia state sharpshooting championship, so you’ll hardly need to worry about that. But if you’d like, I can provide a demonstration; I’ve done so in the past for clients who needed more… reassurance.”

 

Jack looked him over thoughtfully, evaluating the confident way Bittle held himself; contained and somehow elegant, but undeniably sharp, present, and _aware_ in his gaze. Jack may have doubts as to Bittle’s physical abilities, but he couldn’t deny that Bittle had been nothing but focused and professional throughout the entire meeting. And just as Mario had said, Bittle wasn’t working alone.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Jack said slowly.

 

Something in Bittle seemed to soften slightly at that and he smiled at Jack more genuinely than he had before.

 

“Well, before you make a final decision, I have here a copy of my standard contract for an open-ended assignment like yours.” He slid the paper stack of papers over to Jack, using a pen to point out some line or another as he continued talking. “That is to say, there is no defined time period enclosed in the details of this contract, the completion of which will be dependant upon the neutralization of the current threat against you, or upon the moment in which you decide you no longer want our services, whichever comes first. After the conclusion of this contract, you do have the option of opening another for a defined period of time if you wish. Now, let me go over some highlights in here, but I’ll give you until tomorrow to read through it thoroughly and make your decision--you can understand that time is of the essence, of course, so we’d like you to decide as soon as possible for the sake of everyone involved. Now, stop me if you have questions, but this first line here states--”

 

Jack quickly became overwhelmed but he tried to focus and understand as Bittle went through the contract at blinding speed, flipping pages back and forth and explaining one point after another. Twenty minutes later, he was still nodding dumbly as Bittle finished up and tapped the contract papers back into a neat pile that he set back in front of Jack. Bittle smiled kindly at him, producing a card from seemingly nowhere and setting it gently on top of the contract, tapping it once with his forefinger for emphasis.

 

“Like I said, Mr. Zimmermann, you don’t have to make your decision right now. This is my card--my cell phone number there is available for you to text or call at all times, day or night.” That quicksilver smile again, there and gone, but now accompanied by a warm crinkle at the eyes. “We don’t exactly keep normal business hours. We can be guaranteed to stay close by at least until tomorrow, so don’t be afraid to contact me for any questions or help you may need. How does that sound?”

 

Bittle stood up gracefully and buttoned his trim grey suit jacket closed, Jack hastily following. Jack could see that his black bowtie was actually a very dark maroon against the smooth white of his shirt. It had very tiny white X’s patterned on it.

“That sounds… great. I’ll be sure to look this over carefully and let you know what I decide by tomorrow.”

 

Bittle held his hand out again and Jack shook it more firmly this time, receiving a blinding smile for his efforts.

 

“Well, like I said, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zimmermann. I look forward to working with you to end this nasty business.”

 

“Uh, likewise,” Jack said, shaking Oluransi and Birkholtz’ hands--they had yet to say anything since their introduction, but had managed to look quite imposing next to Bittle--and walked all three of them to the door. Georgia offered to follow them out a little further, leaving Jack alone in the conference room to gather his thoughts. He scrubbed a hand over his chin and wandered back to the table, picking up the card sitting innocuously there.

 

He ran a thumb over the name printed in bold, plain print. Eric R. Bittle. The print on the card didn’t in any way match the small, polite man in a presumably violent occupation who wore subtly patterned maroon bowties to interviews with people he planned to protect.

 

Câlisse de tabarnak _, was this a good idea?_

 

Somehow, he felt he already knew the answer to that. On impulse, he typed the number on the card into his phone and saved it under “ERB - Bodyguard.”

**Author's Note:**

> \+ I have a headcanon that Jack is the type of person that puts how he knows someone in his phone every time he adds a number to his contact list. You know he has "Alicia Zimmermann - Maman" and "Bob Zimmermann - Papa" in there somewhere.
> 
> \+ While typing the summary, I accidentally typed "Bad Bod Zimmermann," which we all know to be patently false.
> 
> \+ I know nothing about hiring/being a bodyguard, and next to nothing about hockey. Luckily, this fic will have minimal amounts of both.
> 
> \+ Some of the tags and ratings may change as the story unfolds. 
> 
> \+ You will see as many of the Check Please characters as I can reasonably find a place for, and in as close to their original roles and characterizations as I can manage despite it being an AU. Yes, even Bitty, though his debut is a little off-putting.
> 
> \+ If you have suggestions, comments, concrit, etc, please let me know in the comments or at my tumblr (rosyourboat.tumblr.com).
> 
> \+ I plan to update once a week for now. See you soon! EDIT: omg guys I just found out that the updates are happening this week!! I'll have to put the next chapter on hold for another week while I'm thoroughly distracted; stay tuned!!


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